


Sun Drunk

by ifwallscouldspeak



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Black Panther (2018), Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-03-28 13:05:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13904619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifwallscouldspeak/pseuds/ifwallscouldspeak
Summary: "What you said," Brunnhilde says slowly, "That it's people who make up Wakanda, not the soil? Where did you get that from?"Okoye frowns, looking at the warrior before her. The tightness of her shoulders, the hint of shadows in her gaze. She has the feeling that she's being tested, yet somehow she's already been found lacking."I got it from my own mind, from my own heart," Okoye answers. "Why?"Brunnhilde glances away. "It's a sentiment that keeps coming up. But no one ever says what happens when all of the people who make a nation are dead."(A pre-Infinity War AU where Wakanda opens its borders to a few Asgardian refugees, causing Okoye and Brunnhilde to (re)discover themselves and one another.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> tfw Thor: Ragnarok and Black Panther gave you a lot of feelings about what it means to be a Black woman in charge of defending a nation-state built off of violence (either actively through colonization or impassively by closing one's borders). Also tfw you have a mega crush on both Okoye and Brunnhilde/Valkyrie and just want to see these two beautiful queer asskicking warriors fall in love!!!!!!! 
> 
> I wanted this to be a fluff piece but y'all know me, it's probably gonna turn into like, social commentary.
> 
> As always, all grammar, spelling and syntax errors are my own. I don't own Marvel or any of the characters and I known almost nothing about the universes outside of the movies. So things are not gonna be canon compliant with the comics at all and barely compliant with any of the movies beyond BP and T:R (aka the only two MCU movies that matter, #aimiright).
> 
> Title comes from ["The Hums"](http://www.yespoetry.com/news/kelsey-castaneda) by Kelsey Castaneda:
> 
> _i ask the sun to recall memories from all of my lives_  
>  _it seems that in none of them could anyone undo my eyes the way that you do_
> 
> _because i feel sun drunk when you look at me i feel_  
>  _sun drunk when you look at me i feel sun_  
>  _drunk when you look at me i feel sun drunk_  
>  _when you look at me i feel like i have lost nothing after all_

+++

 

The Tribal Council meeting is less of a negotiation and more of a verbal brawl, making Okoye wish she were literally anywhere but in this room. She sighs heavily, glancing at the setting sun behind the throne. She’s starving, only having eaten a quick kebab earlier in the day. She had been hoping to grab dinner at her favorite restaurant, but it’s definitely going to be closed by the time they get out of here.

She should’ve known better, honestly.

Her stomach growls and she tries to ignore it, just as she tries to ignore the strange visitors standing with their hands clasped behind their backs. She’s not sure exactly why they haven’t been asked to leave during these negotiations, but all of them just stand stock still, staring almost impassively at the chaos before them.

“The whole point of opening our borders was to help our siblings who have been oppressed,” the Merchant Tribe Elder snaps, “not to aid alien warmongers!”

“They are also refugees,” the River Tribe Elder points out. “Their entire planet was destroyed -”

“By their own hands. If they can do that to their world, who’s to say what they will do to Wakanda?”

“And who’s to say what they will do to Wakanda if we refuse to help them?” W'Kabi argues. “We must also take that into consideration. Their king has shown us the kind of technology that they possess - it rivals and may even outshine ours - no offense, Princess -”

Shuri sniffs. “Offense taken. Once they allow me to tinker with some of their gadgets -”

The Queen Mother rubs her temples. “Shuri.”

T’Challa tries to hide his smirk behind his hand as Shuri mumbles an apology, not sounding remorseful at all. Okoye hides her own smile, before turning her gaze to W'Kabi.

“The argument you make now sounds no different than the one you made when N'Jobu’s son claimed the throne,” she says steadily. “I don’t believe that we should let our anger or fear overrule what is best for our people.”

T’Challa’s gaze sharpens. “So you think we should refuse the Asgardians?”

She hesitates. “I didn’t say that.”

The Mining Tribe Elder says, “We have to put our own people first. There have already been protests across Wakanda over the idea of opening our borders, even to our diasporic siblings. People are scared of losing our traditions and of government coups -”

“That is not the full story and you know it,” Nakia jumps in. “Overwhelmingly the people approve of our refugee program proposals and transnational outreach. Our borders may have been closed, but our minds and ears have not been. Most Wakandans know how dire things are beyond our nation and they want to help.”

“That may be so, but what kind of message does it send when, instead of helping those we set out to, we ignore them in favor of letting in aliens who look just as the colonizers but have three times the power?” The Merchant Tribe Elder asks seriously.

“Or even worse,” the Mining Tribe Elder says, cutting her eyes at the visitors, “We harbor aliens that don’t even look like people.”

“There are hundreds of other nations on this planet,” the Border Tribe Elder frowns. “It should not fall on us alone to help these beings. What about the United States?”

His gaze is pointed directly at one of the visitors, the one who goes by Captain America. Okoye watches him carefully; even though he seems mild-mannered, she has seen his dossier. Three major things stick out in her mind about him. First, his shield is made of stolen vibranium, but he wields it like he forged it himself. Second, he is friends with the White Wolf, certainly to a fault. Third, that that he will do anything and everything to protect his own.

“The United States government, amongst other global powers, have already declined any… formal resettlement plans,” he answers evenly. “But we do have some private citizens willing to house Asgardians.”

“Your Avengers,” Nakia says, a statement and not a question.

“The U.S. may be smart to deny your request. After all, even we have seen the havoc that one of your princes has wrecked on New York.” The River Tribe Elder says mildly. “Though, a population cannot be blamed for what one… rogue monarch may do.”

Shuri makes a small, choking sound like she wants to start laughing, while Nakia and the Queen Mother exchange looks. Okoye steels her face into something neutral so she doesn’t snort at the Elder’s dry attempt at dark humor. It all goes over the visitors’ heads. Captain America inclines his head, looking as though he is readying himself to speak. However, it is another who responds: the Asgardian Prince-King, with just one eye and short, buzzed hair. He stares directly at T’Challa; his body is almost limp, like he’s trying to make himself as small as possible.

“If I may? Your highness.”

T’Challa nods his head slowly. “Yes?”

“I know we ask much of you and your kingdom,” he says, “especially when we can offer almost nothing in return but our labor and our good will. But my people need you. We need someplace that we can hide and regroup and learn, slowly, if we are to make your Earth our home -”

“Wakanda is nothing like other nations of Earth,” the Mining Tribe Elder shakes her head. "If you're looking to us for a shortcut to understanding this globalized planet, we are the last nation you should have come to."

The look on the Prince-King's face suggests that Wakanda was the last nation they came to, but he just nods his head respectfully. 

“Well then, perhaps us being here can help your people as well," he says. "To also get used to the idea of what life can be like outside of your borders. If you are resettling human refugees here, your people will need to learn about other cultures.”

“We have War Dogs around the globe that can provide that kind of training -” the Border Tribe Elder starts.

Shuri cuts him off. “The Hatut Zeraze are not babysitters, they’re spies. They are out in the world for a reason. It would be foolish to bring them home just to educate us on how to work with outsiders when they are neutralizing threats and providing much-needed Intel.”

“I agree.” Nakia nods firmly. "It would be better if our people and the Asgardians could get to know each other first -"

“What happens when the Asgardians decide they wish to stay in Wakanda forever?” the Mining Tribe Elder asks. “Their very existence will forever change and mold our cultures and our traditions. If they chose to fold into our nation, they will not only assimilate. We, and our children, will adopt their ways.”

“Change isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” Shuri argues. “Look at how our technology has made our lives so much better. Or if you want to talk about cultural exchange - look only to how the Jabari have begun to integrate into Wakanda -”

“That is true,” M'Baku says. “So far, my people have managed to hold onto our own customs and get along with the rest of the tribes.”

“That’s different,” the Mining Tribe Elder insists. “We are all from the same place, we all share the same ancestral knowledge. Each of the five tribes - our blood runs deep the soil. That is what makes Wakanda.”

“Elder, with all due respect,” Okoye breathes through her nose. “It is the people that make up Wakanda. Not the soil.”

T’Challa tilts his head slightly. “Okoye.”

Okoye glances at Nakia, her back set firmly in resolve. They had discussed this situation in detail previously, as soon as the visitors first arrived. Nakia had instantly been for resettling the Asgardian refugees. Some of her reasons were humanitarian - _they're actively looking for a new home, and we have more than enough resources. We said at the United Nations that we wanted to be an example for the world, and what better example could we be than accepting intergalactic refugees?  -_ And some were logical - _look at their technology. Their metals rival vibranium and their warriors are as fierce as ours. It’s smart to have them as allies within our borders. Perhaps they will even know how to regrow or replicate the _Heart_ -Shaped Herb_.

Okoye had agreed for different reasons, though. Something instinct within her keeps telling her that they should host the Asgardians. 

She's not sure what it is, exactly. She thinks it might be residual guilt over not immediately following Nakia, Shuri, and the Queen Mother to the Jabari, instead choosing duty to her nation, even if it was to a pretender King. Just a few short weeks ago, the idea of insurrection was not even an option; as had been instilled in her mind since she was a child, it was Wakanda forever. But now… the idea of what Wakanda is feels blurry in her mind. The nation - with its protected borders, its monarchical rule, its secrets and systems - doesn’t seem nearly as important anymore.

Not when she has seen first hand how power can change hands so quickly.

Not when, in the blink of an eye, a beloved leader can be deposed or a close sister-in-arms can be killed or a once-gentle lover can become something more akin to an enemy. 

“I think we have all learned the dangers of turning people away, when we could have nurtured them,” Okoye answers now. “We have the ability to help these refugees. I think it is our duty to welcome them in.”

The air sits between the Council and the visitors then, full of Okoye’s words and the resonance behind them. Okoye meets T’Challa’s gaze, and she sees the exact moment that T’Challa makes his choice. It’s just a subtle flicker in his eyes, and the slight upturn of his smile; but Okoye knows anyway that he agrees with what she’s said. She takes an even breath, nothing out of the ordinary, and flicks her eyes towards Nakia. Nakia gives her a slow, small nod; something of gratitude and sisterhood, so much like all the other little gestures between them that only they can read. Okoye doesn’t wink back, though she wants to. Sometimes she has to restrain herself, just slightly, in these Tribal Council meetings. The Elders, more often than not, don’t respond well to gloating.

“We promised the world, and ourselves, that we would help those in need,” their King says resolutely. “And I will honor this wish. We will accept some of the Asgardian refugees into Wakanda.”

Before anyone can respond to the proclamation, the Asgardian Prince-King does something entirely unexpected.

He shifts forward, and Okoye’s body moves into action before her mind can catch up. One minute she's sitting at attention and the next, her hand on her staff, getting ready to strike. However, all he does is drop to his knees with a loud thud. He bows low to T’Challa, his forehead almost grazing the floor below them. Okoye’s hand flexes and then relaxes on the vibranium as everyone stares.

“Thank you, King T’Challa,” he says, voice full of gratitude.

“It is no trouble at all, God of Thunder,” T’Challa says seriously.

Okoye catches Nakia's eyes once more across the circle. She knows that they both wish that statement could be a prophecy instead of a platitude.

Okoye glances away, and this time, her gaze lands on one of the visitors. The one who stands tall and slightly away from the rest of them. Her dark eyes seem almost bored but there’s something else there, something sharp and evaluating. Her slight movements remind Okoye of the strength and subtly of Dora Milaje. Okoye thinks that she must be a warrior of Asgard. 

For a moment, Okoye wonders what this must be like, her; to see her King kneeling before someone else, their home no longer in existence, her heart and body having nothing more to defend. It’s something Okoye doesn’t know and hopes she never will have to know. Because as bad as Erik Killmonger was - or could have been - at least Wakanda still stands, with T’Challa on the throne. At least the man she's sworn to protect still sits tall, his kingdom safe before him. 

The visitor turns her head just slightly, meeting Okoye’s gaze. One eyebrow goes up, and Okoye can’t tell if it’s a greeting or a question. Maybe it’s both; she inadvertnetly finds the corner of her mouth curling up slightly in response. There’s something absolutely beautiful about this woman that has Okoye wanting to react to her.

But then, Okoye has always been intrigued by strength and purpose.

“Please rise,” T’Challa says, breaking through Okoye’s thoughts. “We have a lot of work to do.”

 

+++


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I'm so excited by how many people got into this - thank you all for your comments! I read each and every one like ten times dkdkckfkfkdkd I tend to not reply to comments on my multi chapter fics, but BELIEVE ME I love and appreciate each one!! And thank you allfor being patient - I know this is coming a thousand weeks late after the first part, asdjkl. But I now have a full outline and will keep writing! I hope you loves enjoy this!

+++

 

Okoye stands in the doorway of Shuri’s lab with Ayo and T’Challa when the explosion happens.

The ear-piercing noise of shattering glass feels like a physical slap, and a lesser group of people would’ve been knocked off of their feet by the blast. But as it is, the noises only trigger something in Okoye’s body, and then she’s sprinting down the ramp without hesitation. She quickly glances towards Ayo, who gives her a swift nod before moving in front of T’Challa. Before the look of surprise and worry can even register on her King’s face, Okoye is already halfway down the ramp to the Princess’s lab. She hears Ayo quickly telling T’Challa to stand down, _the General will have it all under control_ , before refocusing her hearing. She doesn’t need to pay attention to T’Challa arguing; she should be trying to listen for any noises of distress.

It’s already been two weeks since a small group of Asgardians has moved into Wakanda, and it has not been easy. Even though all of the visitors have been set up somewhere in the royal palace, getting them acclimated to everyday life has been a challenge. Every day, they are trained in local customs, educated on Wakandan and Earth history, and taught about language, food, politics, and dress. A few have even gone on “Outings” into the capital, accompanied by Nakia, to experience Wakandan life first hand.

However, Okoye knows progress has moved incredibly slowly. Even under Nakia’s tutelage, none of the Asgardians seem wholeheartedly ready to go into regular Wakandan society. And from some - but thankfully not many - alarming reports of unease at the new refugees amongst the people, it seems like Wakanda might not have been ready for the Asgardians either. Even though many of the Asgardians look African,there are a few that look European, Asian and… Other. Okoye herself had almost fallen over in surprise when she met a being that seemed to be made entirely of rock.

Needless to say, that one has not been one of the few Asgardians to leave the palace and see Wakanda first hand.

“Princess!” Okoye calls out, her staff already swinging in her arms as she storms into the lab.

“I am fine, General,” Shuri coughs.

Okoye spins to a halt as she watches the Princess wave her hands around a mechanism on the table in front of her. A small, concentrated puff of multicolored smoke rises from the table. The air vents in the ceiling have already activated, beginning to suck the smoke away, a voice in the room saying there are no toxic fumes in the air. One of the automated Cleaners, which Shuri had constructed when she was thirteen, spin around the room. They sweep up shards of glass quietly and efficiently. It takes Okoye a moment to realize all of the glass is from a pane above the lab table, smudges of bright blue, yellow and red ash splashed on the remaining pieces.

One of the visitors, Heimdall, stands on the other side of the table, appearing sheepish. Okoye eyes the man with the golden eyes and grey-black dreadlocks. She has heard the Prince-King call him the Guardian and the Gatekeeper on multiple occasions, but she’s still not sure what he had once kept - or perhaps still is keeping - watch over.

Both he and the Princess have on protective lab equipment, complete with goggles and earmuffs. They look totally unaffected by the explosion, simply continuing to stare down at Shuri’s table. Okoye steps closer to them, peering at the device that Shuri is tinkering with. It looks like a set of goggles, digital schematics and mathematical equations spread out in the glass underneath it. She tries to lean in to see some of Shuri’s work, but the Princess bats her away, mumbling about not touching anything.

“You’re a fierce warrior but an absolute klutz around technology, Okoye,” Shuri says.

Okoye laughs. “Fine, I’ll keep my distance.”

Okoye’s earpiece - Shuri’s latest short-range communications device - buzzes at her. Okoye turns her head slightly, pressing on a button on the tech. T’Challa’s voice comes over the line loudly, irritating her eardrum.

“General?”

“She’s fine, my King. Just a lab accident.”

Shuri sucks her teeth. “He’s such a big baby. One small explosion and he alerts the Dora Milaje. We’re lucky he didn’t come down here in his full Panther suit.”

Her tone is loving, so Okoye knows she’s not really upset. It’s rare that she is, with her brother. She turns to smile at the girl, but is surprised to see Shuri isn’t looking at her, but at Heimdall. He chuckles.

“I suppose that’s what big brothers are for,” he says.

“I heard that,” T’Challa grumbles in her ear.

Okoye chuckles, pressing down on the earpiece again to end the conversation. She doesn’t need T’Challa muttering in her ear all day, though she’ll readily admit the earpieces are extraordinarily useful. She watches Shuri focus her attention again on the device in front of her, already tinkering away. Okoye smiles, looking at the contraption on the table. Shuri swipes her hand up, and an electronic projection floats about the table. It’s a 3D model of what looks like an orbital structure.

“What is this?” Okoye asks.

Shuri doesn’t even glance up. “I’m working on a modified version of x-ray spectacles, based off of Heimdall’s range of sight. He can see everything in the Nine Realms.”

Okoye has no idea what she’s talking about. “Okay.”

“I was thinking I could create something that specifically tracks Vibranium,” Shuri says. “Even just trace amounts of it -”

Okoye nods approvingly, already thinking of the uses of tech like that. “Smart. If these... spectacles… can be mass-produced, the War Dogs might be able to better find stolen pieces outside of Wakanda and the Border Tribe can better ensure that nothing is smuggled out.”

Shuri clears her throat. “Actually...”

“Hmm?”

Shuri’s eyes flicker for a moment. “No, that’s right. Exactly what I thought.”

Okoye has known the Princess too long not to know when she’s hiding something. Okoye pauses, wondering if she should press Shuri, but decides against it. Oftentimes, it just leads to her talking in convoluted circles about her thought processes, using complex equations that Okoye can barely get her head around.

“Sounds like it can be very useful,” Okoye says.

“The main issues of course, besides radiation poisoning, is creating the right specifications and frequencies to monitor just vibranium -”

Okoye tries her best to stifle the yawn coming up her chest and through her mouth. It’s not that she’s uninterested in what Shuri is saying. She admires many things about the young Princess, most of all her fascination with how things works and her drive to constantly make things better. She’s just tired at the moment, and can’t find it in herself to be one hundred - or even fifty - percent invested in her project right now.

“All you fighters all the same,” Shuri teases.

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Brunnhilde was down here too, before she got bored and sauntered away,” Shuri says. “Which was a little unfair, when she told me specifically I could look at the shock resistance of her armor -”

“Who is Brunnhilde?” Okoye interrupts.

She shifts, trying to think through all of the Asgardians she’s met over the past few weeks. That name doesn’t sound familiar at all. She rolls it around her mouth but it feels too heavy on her tongue, as if she licked a bramble and now it’s swollen.

Heimdall glances up almost sharply. “She’s the last of the Valkyrie.”

That word sounds more familiar to her - _Valkyrie_. It sounds like sisterhood and steel against steel. Okoye nods slowly. She had heard the Prince-King refer to one of the other Asgardians - the woman who stands like a warrior - by that moniker. At the time, Okoye had thought it was a name, not a title.

“I see,” she says, though she doesn’t, not really.

“The Valkyrie were a lot like the Dora Milaje,” Shuri says. “But then, the were all slaughtered by a pretender to the throne -”

Sharp and fast, an imagine flashes through Okoye’s mind. It’s fragmented, just like her breathing had been in the moment. Just a flash of a dark arm against red armor; frightened, wide eyes; a once pliant body falling like a bag of rocks; a feral, menacing grin. She’s only pulled in for a millisecond, maybe less, and her demeanor doesn’t change. But the memory leaves her unsettled and for a moment, she can’t quite meet Shuri or Heimdall’s eyes. It has been frightening her, lately, how the smallest things have begun to trigger her fears.

“How do you know so much about the Asgardians already?” Okoye asks, trying to make a joke of it. “Do you force all of them to spend time with you down here?”

Shuri rolls her eyes. “Unlike you, I have been a welcoming host. You know, actually getting to know the Asgardians, as people.”

Okoye catches the smirk on Heimdall’s face, the flash of humor in his golden eyes. Her first response is to mutter that she’s not even sure that most of the Asgardians are _people_ , per se; but maybe that’s because in her mind, _people_ has always meant _from this planet_. She swallows down the retort, mildly wondering if it’s a prejudice or a truth or both.

“A welcoming host wouldn’t use her guests as lab rats,” Okoye says mildly.

Shuri grins at her. “What? It’s not my fault they’re more accommodating than the broken white men we usually get.”

 

+++

 

Okoye’s mind wanders later that night as she runs. It’s one of her nightly rituals to stretch her legs and push her muscles as she runs around the Nyanza. She’s halfway through, sweating hard and breathing even harder. The night is warmer than usual, and feels heavy with electricity and rain; it’s going to storm soon, she knows. She barely pays attention to where she goes, allowing her body’s muscle memory to lead her over the grass and rocks. She knows she shouldn’t be so distracted, so lost in her memories, especially this close to the border. But she can’t help it, sometimes. Tonight, the weather has dragged her back just a few short weeks.

She used to love it when W’Kabi joined her on nights like these. Sometimes, they’d be caught in the middle of a downpour, and they’d laugh and splash each other and make love in the storm. W’Kabi used to say that on those nights, they weren’t warriors of Wakanda, but just two people in love. Okoye never quite agreed with those sentiments, though; for her, being a Dora was inseparable from who she was. Everything she did - even when she was reckless and silly and sensual - was tinged by her calling. _Can’t we exist as both, my love?_ She asked him, the last time they were together.

This distraction is the reason why she almost misses the dark, female figure standing in the water until she’s almost upon her. Okoye feels her body straighten into a defensive position as soon as she spots the woman; she’s swaying slightly, the choppy, pre-storm waves crashing against her thighs. Her back is to the shore and she’s hunched over slightly, long hair whipping around her head. It takes Okoye another brief moment to recognize the woman through the small bits of moonlight peeking through the clouds.

Brunnhilde the Valkyrie.

Okoye slows to a stop a few feet away from her, her feet still firmly planted in the grass. One hand is already on her staff, the familiar buzz of combat simmering low beneath her skin. With her other hand, she reaches up into her ear to turn on her communicator and contact Nakia. What is this woman doing out in the Nyanza, and so late at night at that? It must be well past midnight, at this point. The Asgardians are not under house arrest, of course, but their movements are pretty limited as they assimilate into Wakandan life. Okoe is certain that there’s no way anyone would have approved this solo trip, so close to the border in the cover of darkness.

But instead of calling Nakia or calling out a warning to the Valkyrie, Okoye hesitates. She’s not sure why she does it, exactly, and yet, she doesn’t make a move.

Perhaps it’s the strangeness of the situation, or the eerie calmness of it, literally the silence before the storm. Perhaps it’s even the way Okoye notices the subtle shifts in Brunnhilde’s body, as she realizes she’s not alone. She doesn’t turn to face Okoye, but her body does straighten slightly; her legs spread, as if finding better purchase in the soil below her. She’s preparing herself for a fight, but she’s not acting as aggressor.

Something about it calls to Okoye, makes her not do a damn thing. She just stands there and watches the woman, the sweat drying on her skin and her breath evening out as her heartbeats slow down. In the distance, thunder booms through the air; the hint of electricity crackles on the back of Okoye’s neck.

Brunnhilde breaks the silence, still not turning to face Okoye. “Thunder used to mean the Prince was either throwing a fit or having a great laugh.”

The statement is so strange that Okoye has nothing to say in response. When Brunnhilde keeps speaking, she thinks that maybe this isn't meant to be a conversation, though.

“That was a long time ago, though. Centuries, back when Thor was an infant,” she continues, voice dropping off slightly. “Back when… we would see the sky light up and it was always great fun. Even when we were supposed to be in training, we’d race to the shore and play fight under the lights and the noise.”

There’s something wistful in her tone when she says ‘we,’ something that flashes in and out sharply as she speaks. It reminds Okoye of the sting of her heart when she's been thinking of W’Kabi. It’s quiet for a few minutes more, except for the thunder in the distance. One bolt of lightning illuminates the sky, and Okoye sees Brunnhilde’s side profile in full. She’s wearing some sort of armor, with plates that look flexible yet sturdy, molding around her body like a second skin.

Brunnhilde turns then. The movement is too jerky, as if she’s not quite in control of her body. It seems wrong to watch, somehow. A feeling of discontent crawls over Okoye’s spine, even as Brunnhilde lifts her head and stares at Okoye definitely.

“Going to drag me back to my cage, then?” she asks. “General.”

It bothers Okoye that these are the Valkyrie’s first direct words to her. She purses her lips slightly, continuing to say nothing as she stares.

There are, of course, many reasons why she should escort Brunnhilde back to the palace.

But the fact of the matter is, the rain is coming and Okoye feels alive with the thrum of the thunder and her body wants to move, it wants to stretch and play and fight. Almost without her permission, Okoye’s body crouches slightly into one of the Dora’s main attack positions for hand-to-hand combat. She waits, their eyes meeting across the stretch of grass and shoreline.

“When’s the last time you’ve had a bit of great fun?” Okoye finds herself calling out, laughing as she taunts Brunnhilde to action.

At first, she doesn’t think Brunnhilde will take the bait. Her body seems to freeze in the water, the choppy waves splashing against her upper thighs. But then a wide grin stretches across her face, teeth almost blinding in the dark, stormy weather. Brunnhilde shifts her stance into a defensive position but otherwise doesn’t move from her spot in the lake.

“If you want me,” she calls out, “come and get me.”

Okoye waits until she feels the first drops of rain on her scalp and neck before launching herself into the water. Brunnhilde immediately dances backwards as Okoye lands, barely making a splash.

It feels as though her movement has brought on the downpour. The rain comes down heavily, practically obscuring Okoye’s vision. The water is like a second skin and she laughs, moving forward to strike at Brunnhilde.

Brunnhilde easily dodges her attack, spinning away from Okoye. The water splashes around her as she lifts her leg up, trying to hit Okoye with a roundhouse kick. Okoye jumps again, striking out towards Brunnhilde’s throat as she does. Brunnhilde blocks the movement with the meat of her arm.

Back and forth they go, striking forward, dodging, and blocking one another’s attacks. As they fight, they move into the lake, going in deeper until the water is around their hips. She can’t help the laugh that escapes her as she has to slice through a wave in order to jab Brunnhilde in the thigh. It’s an added challenge, fighting in tall water like this. She’s positive neither of them is trying to hurt one another for real; but the dangerous gleam in Brunnhilde’s eyes makes Okoye certain that this is a bit more than a game.

Although Okoye can tell that Brunnhilde is physically stronger - she seems to have the same kind of power as the Black Panther, if not more - she is not nearly as strategic as Okoye is. Her style seems to be more in the moment, while Okoye tries to plan one step ahead. Brunnhilde’s attacks consist mostly of trying to hit wherever Okoye isn’t blocking, and her defenses always seem a bit crazed. Okoye knows part of that must be the lack of sight; the rain is so thick and the lake is so dark that most of her moves rely on guessing where Brunnhilde’s body is, approximately.

But the thing that hits Okoye the hardest is how similar Brunnhilde’s fighting style is to the Dora Milaje’s. She moves self-assuredly, relying both on her brute strength and her quick reflexes. But she also hits as if she’s waiting for someone else to land a finishing move, as if she’s used to working in a pair or even a trio. From fighting with W’Kabi and his warriors, Okoye can tell that she also wasn’t first trained to fight on her own two feet. Okoye can only imagine what kind of animal she must have rode into battle - a dragon, or some other kind of winged creature?

It’s while Okoye is distracted, thinking of mythical beasts, that Brunnhilde finally lands a hit.

Her fist knocks squarely into Okoye’s jaw, almost sliding off of her skin because of the downpour. Belatedly, Okoye swings her arms up to block the move; she manages to clip Brunnhilde’s arms, but takes the brunt of the hit.

Okoye feels the pain immediately, stars blossoming behind her eyelids as she stumbles backwards. She loses her grip in the sand below and slips into the lake. Water fills her mouth and for a moment, her mind doesn’t register anything but pain and suffocation. She gasps unthinkingly, and her hands scramble for purchase beneath her. For a moment, she’s worried that she’s going to black out from the harsh impact.

Just as her thoughts focus again - _find the surface, find the air, follow the lightning_ \- strong hands grip around her ribcage and yank her upwards. Okoye’s head pops up and she gasps, trying to blink away lake and rainwater. Her feet still aren’t steady on the ground; she’s being pulled backwards, closer to shore. She reaches around Brunnhilde to grip at her shoulders, coughing up excess water.

They don’t stop until they’re fully out of the water. Brunnhilde continues to hold onto Okoye tightly, her eyes narrowed and her body stiff. Okoye shifts slightly away from her, reaching for her staff. She shakes it into full size and leans on it, still keeping one hand wrapped around Brunnhilde’s shoulder. The rain still falls heavily, so thick that Okoye can barely see anything but the woman standing next to her.

Brunnhilde leans in, staring at her face closely. Two of her fingers prod at the side of Okoye’s face, not at all gently, though she assumes that is the intent. Okoye’s face throbs, and she knows the spot where Brunnhilde hit her is going to swell and bruise. As Okoye breathes, pain and exhaustion throbs through her entire body. She had definitely pushed herself too hard, not paying attention to her limits as they fought.

It makes her grin, even as they stand there silently. Brunnhilde frowns at her, just poking at her face. For some reason, it makes Okoye want to tease her.

“So, come here often?”

It’s suppose to be a joke - an old come on, some American saying from a movie Shuri watched, possibly - but it comes out much flirtier than Okoye has intended. It doesn’t seem to matter, though. Brunnhilde’s fingers pause on her face, just resting on the spot. As the silence stretches on, it occurs to Okoye that Brunnhilde probably thinks she’s interrogating her. The phrase is probably meaningless, at least the way Okoye meant it, to the Asgardian. She chuckles ruefully.

“I don’t actually want to know if you come here often,” Okoye says. “I was making a joke.”

“I don't understand,” Brunnhilde frowns.

“It started out as a pick up line, you know. When you see someone at the bar and you want to start a conversation -”

“We’re not at a bar,” Brunnhilde interrupts.

“ - But now it’s a thing people say, you know, to break the tension,” Okoye says. “When there’s a gap in the conversation.”

“We weren’t talking,” Brunnhilde says. “We were fighting.”

“And that’s not a kind of conversation?”

Brunnhilde stares at her intently. The hand on her face shifts slowly, cupping the lines of her jaw gently. Okoye smiles again, a low, excited hum pulsing through her body. Even though it’s not cold outside - though it’s certainly cooled down with the storm - Brunnhilde’s hand seems impossibly hot against her skin. Brunnhilde’s gaze seems to focus and then sharpen, her dark eyes sparking like the lightning. They stare at each other, and both lean in slightly. Okoye wonders who will break the stalemate and kiss the other first.

“I forgot myself for a moment,” Brunnhilde says.

Her hand falls away suddenly, and she takes a step back. Okoye tries not to sigh, leaning more heavily against her staff. Okoye knows she’s talking about the punch, but she wonders if she’s also speaking about the moment that just passed between them.

Brunnhilde’s statement sounds like an apology, but her tone reads too defensively. It reminds Okoye so much of Nakia she almost wants to laugh. But as she eyes Brunnhilde’s drawn eyebrows and downturned mouth, she’s sure that wouldn’t be received well. She’s in such a good mood though, despite her injuries - and what her body will be saying in the morning - that she can’t help but tease.

“That means I was a good opponent, then,” she says. “Thank you.”

Brunnhilde glares at her. “That wasn’t supposed to be a compliment!”

“So you think I'm an unworthy opponent?”

“That’s not - you -” Brunnhilde pauses. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Immensely.”

Brunnhilde looks about two seconds away from challenging her to another fight, which makes Okoye laugh. She clutches onto her staff and lets the laughter overtake her. Her body shakes so hard that she almost misses the buzzing in her ear. With a crooked grin on her face she reaches up, pressing onto her earpiece. Despite the downpour, the connection is perfect, of course. Shuri always manages to outdo herself.

“General?” Ayo’s concerned voice comes over the line. “Okoye, are you there?”

Okoye immediately stops laughing, standing up straight. Her abdominal movies whine in protest.

“Ayo?”

“Ah, so you are alive.”

“ What’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter?” Ayo sounds mystified. “It’s raining cats and dogs and you should’ve been back from your run an hour ago. Did you get stuck in a mud puddle again?”

“That was one time and we were both children!”

Ayo laughs. “Right, General. Of course.”

“I’m fine, Ayo, thank you,” Okoye says, her smile breaking through her tone. “I’ll be back shortly.”

The line cuts off in her ear, and Okoye turns off her earpiece. She glances at Brunnhilde. She’s standing a bit more comfortably, though she still seems guarded. Her face is carefully blank, and she just looks back at Okoye.

“Playtime is over, then?” she asks.

Okoye says, “For the night.”

 

++++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading so far! Drop me a note and tell me what you think :)


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